


Physical Therapy

by florahart



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Blowjobs, Clint has a thing for sweaty Phil, Licking, M/M, Porn, happy uncomplicated sex, jerking off, no plot anywhere to be found, sweaty Phil, this is what happens after I hurt them a few too many times, utter porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 03:45:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3275480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/florahart/pseuds/florahart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Usually, Phil does his workouts in the morning, then showers and puts on a suit.  And Clint likes that fine, but sometimes he also likes it (a lot) when Phil comes home sweaty and salty and damp, and this time, he really needs to show him how much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Physical Therapy

**Author's Note:**

> My last couple of fics have involved putting them through some level of wringer. This time: yay orgasms! ...naturally I had to hurt one of them a little first, but honest, I'm pretty sure he gives zero fucks by the time I'm done with him.

“Honey, I'm home,” Phil says, like he always does because even though it's kind of cheesy, it makes Clint happy. Er, not that he admits that, because he is a stone-cold assassin specialist spy type and how big of a sap would he have to be to be all warm-heart-happy-glow about having someone to call him honey and a place that is their (forever) home, but Phil knows anyway.

Clint grins and gets up from the images he's been poring over all day trying to work out best angles for the thing in Glasgow next week. Phil's wearing gym stuff and wrestling his duffel over his head one-armed, and Clint blurts, before he thinks all that carefully, “Do you know what my favorite part about you getting shot is?”

Phil stops with the bag's handle halfway off his good arm. “Uh, _my_ favorite part of _you_ getting shot is when it doesn't happen, so I'm hoping for the same? Due to how getting shot _sucks_?”

Clint crinkles his nose, but continues on over. “No, I mean, yes, but I mean, when you have PT to do, you come home sweaty.” He gets close enough to kiss, then nuzzles into the damp hair behind Phil's ear and nips at the lobe. “You usually keep all your sweaty to the crack of dawn and all controlled before showers and crisp ties and stuff.”

Phil pulls back. “Clint, I _know_ I need a shower, but give me a minute. Getting organized is harder one-handed.”

“Want help?” Clint slides his hands up under Phil's sweatshirt, along the warm, tacky, slightly gritty skin of his low back. The fine hairs there are sweat-stiff and kind of crunchy, and Clint scritches gently. “Because I have all kinds of time to help you get naked.”

“And clean,” Phil says, “You can mess me up again if you want, but--”

“No! No, I'm serious!” Clint mouths his way down the salty skin of Phil's throat, to the clammy-damp collar of his crewneck, then presses wet kisses along his collarbone. The one that isn't in the sling. 

“You...” Phil pauses. “You are?” He pulls the neckband of his shirt away from himself and sniffs it. “I smell like a million bacteria having a party.”

“Mmm-hm.” Clint lets his teeth play now too, scraping and nibbling his way back up the other side of Phil's throat. “But just think.” He stops talking for a minute to kiss Phil full on the mouth, pushing his hands down the back of his sweatpants and giving a squeeze. 

“Think what?” Phil sways toward him, leaning into the kiss, but he sounds doubtful, and Clint is having none of that. No way.

“When we fuck, you sweat. When we spar, you sweat. We do all kinds of things where the upshot is, you sweat, even though you always wanna shower up and put the suit back on first thing. I like you in the suit—oh yes, the suit is as good as the jeans is as good as bare-ass naked and pink from the shower—but I also really, really like you sweaty.”

“But that's _new_ sweat.”

“Hey, you don't gotta like the same things as me, but just trust me. You come home sweaty and I am absolutely ready to lick every salty bacteria-ey inch of you.”

“Which is why you like when I get shot and do PT at the whims of our therapeutic overlords.”

“Which is why, while I _hate_ that you got shot, I love that you do PT at the whims of whatever you said, mm-hmm,” Clint says, hands busy kneading Phil's ass as he plasters himself up against Phil. He's careful not to jostle the shoulder, which is healed enough to tolerate a nudge but not so much it won't hurt if he twists it funny, but he wants Phil to feel that just this two minutes of touching, talking, and smelling has him hard and definitely interested in more play.

“And if I say I'd still rather shower first?”

“Then I'll sigh and help you get cleaned up, but I might decide I have to suck your dick in the shower before you get soaped up,” Clint says with a wink. “Unless you really hate that idea.”

Phil looks down between them, at the obvious bulge in his sweatpants bumping out next to the one in Clint's jeans. “Uh, no. Apparently I don't hate that idea at all.”

Which was probably dirty pool, Clint has to admit; He's well aware that Phil loves coming on him in the shower and then washing him and oh so incidentally jerking him off. So he asks, “Then, shower? Or can I see how clean I can get you with my tongue first?”

Phil's dick jerks as he nods, and Clint offers a tiny fistpump in the air, then starts unbuckling the sling so he can get Phil's shirt off and get to all that skin as soon as possible. Well, no, it would be _possible_ , but uncomfortable, to just shove the shirt up to his armpits and suck his nipples hard regardless of the sling, but he's not looking for uncomfortable, just soon. 

He gets the sling undone and slowly, carefully gets the other sleeve and neck off, then pulls the rest off down the arm of the injured shoulder. He stops to kiss the plastic-covered bandage and says, “Least favorite part, for the record,” before moving back across Phil's body, lips and tongue and occasional teeth to his other armpit.

Phil jolts against him when he bites at one plumped-up nipple, and draws him back up for a proper kiss, and Clint smiles against his mouth. “See, not so bad.”

“Your mouth on my body is never bad,” Phil says. 

“And that part, we agree on.” Clint puts the sling back on over Phil's bare skin, then winks and drops to his knees, dragging Phil's sweat pants down with him, and swallows Phil's dick to the root in one move. Phil gasps as he stands there, pants around his knees, shuddering, good hand in Clint's hair, and Clint pulls back and then pushes forward again fast and slick.

Phil swears and untangles his fingers to reach for the doorframe, or a wall, or whatever he can find while Clint keeps fucking his throat on Phil's dick, licking and sucking until he pulls off and moves around the side to suck one ball into his mouth instead. Phil grips the door harder as Clint noses at his groin and jerks him with one hand while he reaches between his legs to press and pull his balls forward.

“Clint, I'm--”

Clint stops, suddenly, and looks up. “Maybe you should sit down,” he says. “All that PT and all...”

Phil stares down at him, his dick pulsing out drops of clear fluid that are almost enough to drip to the floor. “...What?”

“You should sit.”

“I should _come_ ,” Phil argues.

“Oh, that'll happen,” Clint agrees. “Very soon.” He maneuvers Phil to the couch and seats him, then pulls him to the edge of the cushion, legs wide, and licks a wet stripe across his perineum before returning to his balls, leaving his dick to drip and smack against his belly as he rocks and thrusts.

“Shoulder OK?” Clint asks, leaning off to the side and snagging a pillow.

“Fine,” Phil says. Clint nods and goes back to tonguing his groin, the creases between trunk and thigh, the soft musky flesh between his balls that want to pull up and come but that relaxes as Clint's tongue kneads and his fingers pull and press.

And then he sits back on his heels, two fingers in his mouth, and raises his eyebrows.

Phil opens his legs wider and brings his knees almost to his shoulders, nodding and making a sound that Clint can't name but that is all the encouragement he needs. He pushes his wet fingers into Phil and swallows his dick back down, then sticks his free hand down his pants and jerks until Phil shoots down his throat.

Unsurprisingly, when Phil gets off, with a wail of Clint's name and one heel pressing into Clint's shoulder blade, with pre-come on his belly and Clint's fingers in his ass, Clint comes too, spurting into his boxers and sighing around Phil's dick.

A moment goes by as Clint sucks down the last drops from Phil and wipes his hands on his jeans, and then he sits back again on his heels. 

“So,” Phil says, legs splayed wide and sling off-center, “I should get shot more often, then?”

“No. But you could change your workout schedule just a little. Maybe. Sometimes.”

“Mm,” Phil says, considering. “But now I _really_ need a shower.”

“Me too,” Clint says. “Good news is, now I really want to take you in there with me, clean you up, and take you to bed.”

Phil nods sleepily. “Can there be sandwiches?”

Clint chuckles. “Sure. With pickles and everything.”

"Perfect."


End file.
